


The sun, it shines in your eyes.

by Achilles_Angst



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Darcy and Georgiana are twins now, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's gonna be ok, M/M, Starts as a kidfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 20:47:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14505177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achilles_Angst/pseuds/Achilles_Angst
Summary: Darcy lives an idyllic childhood with his twin in his father's vast country home. But the arrival of Charles Bingley will change his existence. Probably for the better. He might be falling in love, but the (bumpy, deadly) course of love (and life) never did run smooth...I'm sorry, I'm bad at summaries.





	The sun, it shines in your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic, so pleeeeease be nice. Comments would be lovely. If I think a chapter will contain triggers, you will be warned.  
> Virtual hug for all readers!  
> Also, haven't figured out how to sort the chapters thing, but THERE WILL BE MORE.

The sun, it shines in your eyes  
Chapter 1  
Age 8  
Fitzwilliam Darcy was Not Happy. He was perched high up in the best tree in the garden, watching the smooth sweep of drive that curled up to the house. His father had invited some boy to stay for the whole summer, a child of one of his "old friends." Darcy knew this translated as "Acquaintance with old money", and he doubted his father really cared about the man. However, a favour was useful in father's world, and his dad liked children. He was also convinced that Darcy wanted a playmate other than Georgiana. What made it worse was that his father had decreed that the boy would sleep in Darcy's room, on the grounds that he would feel more welcome there instead of sleeping in one of the echoing spare rooms. At the precocious age of eight-and-a-half, Darcy had decided that the only company he required was that of his twin, his imagination and Aristotle, the huge and incredibly fluffy purebred Siamese who belonged entirely to Darcy.  
A soft rumble of a powerful engine, and a sleek black car slipped off the road and started up the drive. Darcy gave it an unimpressed glare and clambered down the tree towards Georgiana, who was turning cartwheels across the main lawn, hyper with the prospect of a new friend.  
Georgiana smiled dizzily up at him as he appeared, now flopped on the grass. Georgiana had inherited her father's deep golden hair, and they both had his brown eyes. However Darcy had inherited his mother's thick black curls, at odds with Georgiana's smooth golden waves.  
" Darcy! Georgie! Our guest is arriving!" Their father appeared at the edge of the lawn looking harried, mobile in hand. Tugging Georgie to her feet, Darcy hurried over and sprinted past his father just in time to see the car door swing open. A shock of thick golden-red hair appeared, followed by a pair of eyes the colour of the sea. The boy was coated in freckles, and dressed in a worn green T shirt at odds with the expensive suitcase he was attempting to drag out of the car. At last getting the suitcase free, the boy looked up and spotted him. A smile spread across his face and he opened his mouth to say something, just as Darcy's father and Georgiana walked up. The boy's mouth slammed shut, and he drew himself upright. The grip on his suitcase was suddenly white-knuckled. Puzzled, Darcy started towards him but stopped as Father's voice filled the silence. "Charles Bingley, isn't it? I'm George, and these are my children." Father gave him an expectant look, so Darcy stepped forward slightly.  
" I'm Fitzwilliam Darcy, but everyone calls me Darcy." As an afterthought he added, " pleased to meet you." Georgiana stepped towards Charles, smiling radiantly. " I'm Georgiana! Darcy's my twin, but we don't look alike. We're both eight, but we turn nine in autumn. I like your T shirt! Do you like cats?" Under this tirade of chatter, Charles had relaxed, his hand unclenching. The smile began to creep back across his face, soft and hopeful. Darcy felt an unexpected twinge of fondness, which usually only occurred when something like Aristotle curling up on his lap happened. Surprised, he looked cautiously at Charles, who began to speak.  
" I'm Charles, but usually I only get called that when I'm in trouble. I normally get called Bingley. I hope it's not any trouble having me." The last part of this spiel was directed at Father, who smiled reassuringly at him. "No trouble at all, Bingley. Is your father here?" Bingley shook his head quickly, glancing back at the car. "No, he's very busy, but he sends his thanks. I was driven here by Eric." Bingley waved at the figure in the driver's seat, whose smart uniform suggested that he was a chauffeur. Eric waved back, then eased the car around and back down the drive, disappearing as quickly as he'd come. Impulsively, Darcy reached out and caught Bingley's arm, and tugged until he followed, still clutching his suitcase. " You're sharing a room with me." He announced solemnly, dragging Bingley in the direction of the house. " You can put your case there. Come on Georgie!" Georgiana skipped after them, singing "let it go" with occasional pauses where she'd forgotten the words or if she wanted to ask Bingley a question. Momentarily letting Bingley go in order to tug the front door open, Darcy looked back at his father, who smiled fondly at him before gesturing for him to go inside. Darcy complied, only to discover that Georgiana had latched onto Bingley's other arm, and was talking animatedly with him. Re-establishing his hold on the arm with the suitcase, they proceeded up the stairs and along the grand old corridor.  
Bursting finally into Darcy's bedroom, large and airy with big windows overlooking the garden, Bingley dropped his suitcase and spun around, eyes huge. "This is your room?" Darcy nodded, and grinned as Aristotle uncurled himself from his usual spot on one of the window seats and padded over, purring. Rubbing around Darcy's legs a few times, the cat paused in front of Bingley and turned a regal gaze on him. Thoughtfully, he tilted his head to peer at the new person, blue eyes large and unblinking. Darcy watched on as Bingley slowly lowered a hand. Aristotle sniffed a finger, then tilted his head down to allow Bingley to stoke the thick hair at his neck. Bingley quickly caught on to this and gave him a scratch behind the ears, which made Aristotle's low rumbling purr increase considerably in volume. When Bingley looked up, he was beaming. Darcy grinned back at him, pleased at his cat's ready acceptance. "He likes you! That's good! He bit the postman once." Georgiana added, smiling at both Bingley and Aristotle."It was hilarious. The postman was furious." Bingley looked at Aristotle with renewed respect, then looked questioningly at Darcy. " Your cat bit the postman?" Darcy laughs at the memory and nods. " The postman didn't like cats, and I think Ari could tell. He drew blood and everything!" Bingley nodded seriously, evidently impressed by this feat. Then something seemed to catch his attention. " Do you two share a room?" Puzzled by this question, Darcy looked around. Then he realised. "No! That's your bed, not Georgie's." Georgie wrinkled her nose." I would never share with Darcy! He snores!" Enraged by this suggestion, Darcy whirled on her. " I do not! You do!" This might have escalated into a full on fight if Bingley had not interjected, " But why do I have my own bed? I'm just a guest!" Darcy looked at him blankly. His eight year old logic saw no flaw with the reason for Bingley to have a full bed, but he explained anyway. "You are staying for the entire summer. Father would never allow you to sleep in a camp bed for so long. And the spare rooms are... creepy, so we just moved a bed from one of them into here. Simple!" Bingley, confronted with this searing logic, did not disagree. He walked to the bed, sat on it, bounced experimentally, then flopped face down on the duvet.He sighed happily and spread out his arms and legs so he reassembled a starfish. Georgiana ran over and sat down next to him with a bounce. "So! Bingley! Tell us about yourself!"  
And so it began.

Over the course of the summer, the three of them grew close, wrapped together in the joys of childhood and summer. They swam in the lake, climbed trees, pretended to be pirates and superheroes and elves.  
Georgiana introduced Elizabeth Bennet, her best friend, as well as all of the other Bennet sisters. They all got on, even if the youngest ones were so little that they got in the way and cried in imaginary games.  
The only blight on this perfect existence was one only Darcy and Bingley knew about.  
On the third night Darcy, always a light sleeper, was woken by a noise. Lying in bed, he listened intently and realised that the noise he could hear was whimpering, like Georgiana when she'd cut her knee. Dislodging Aristotle, Darcy slipped silently out of bed and padded towards Bingley, wondering if he'd hurt himself in the night. Bingley was lying in bed, but the covers were twisted around him, and as Darcy watched he rolled sharply onto his side, letting out a wordless cry. He was pale and his face was distorted by fear. When Darcy hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder, he jerked away like he'd been burnt. " Bingley!" Darcy hissed. "Bingley!" Bingley's eyes slammed open and he sat up, looking around wildly, chest heaving.  
Darcy is horrified when the tears start, utterly silent. Bingley is shaking, tears dripping down his cheeks, and he looks terrified and miserable and- Darcy wraps his arms around him and closes his eyes. After a while the juddering tremors of Bingley's chest slow, and the silent tears lapse into quiet hiccups against the now damp skin of Darcy's neck. Darcy stands slowly, pulling Bingley with him, and shuffles carefully back towards his own bed, not letting his hold on Bingley slip. Bingley follows with the complete trust of a tired child, and allows himself to be tugged down into the warm cocoon of Darcy's duvet, tucked against the other boy's chest. Aristotle reclaims his territory by clambering on top of both of them, stretching out like a fluffy blanket. Bingley falls asleep quickly, exhausted by his tears and lulled by the smooth rise and fall of Darcy's chest, but Darcy stays awake for a little longer, until the warm familiarity of the dark pulls him under as well.  
This occurred again, and again, until eventually Darcy would simply call to Bingley across the room the moment he was woken by him, and a few moments later Bingley would slip under the duvet and wrap his arms around him. Darcy got used to this strange quirk with the easy acceptance of a child, and ceased thinking about it. They never mentioned it to anybody else, and although Georgiana sometimes burst in in the morning to find them curled in the same bed, she never questioned it. It became part of Darcy's routine, and soon the only worry on his mind was the suddenly looming end of the summer. The thought of Bingley's absence sunk into his chest like a stone. The weeks turned suddenly to days, hours and minutes and seconds slipping past them like sand grains, until only three days were left.  
Two evenings before Bingley left, Darcy made a decision. Sat cross legged on his bed, he waited until Bingley came back from brushing his teeth. Bingley padded over, smiling easily. Darcy motioned for him to sit, then reached down into the space between the wall and the mattress. Drawing his hand out, he showed Bingley what was clutched in his fist. What he held was an egg, still slightly large in his palm, mad of Rose Quartz. It was a soft pink, and cool and smooth to the touch. Questioningly, Bingley held out his hand and Darcy placed it in his palm, watching him marvel at the weight and the way in fitted on his flat palm. Hesitantly he began to speak. " It was my mother's. She used to let me play with it, apparently. I don't remember, but it makes me feel closer to her when I miss her. She died when me and Georgiana were two. Geogiana has a necklace of hers. She wears it sometimes, a gold chain with a sapphire on it. But I like my egg." Cautiously he tried to gauge Bingley's reaction. Most eight year olds did not treasure pink eggs. But Bingley's face was soft when he looked up at him, and he smiled. "It's lovely. It's beautiful." His face turned sad. "My mother didn't want me. I never knew her." Darcy felt a rush of sympathy. He missed his mother, but he knew that she'd loved him when he was alive. He didn't get more time to brood though, because Bingley had suddenly hugged him, warm and comforting. "Thank you for letting me see." He'd whispered, then pressed the egg back into Darcy's hands, and slipped back to his own bed.

A sleek black car slips up the driveway. Darcy, sat next to Bingley on the front step, watches it approach in misery. As the car pulls to a halt, Bingley stands, and picks up his suitcase. Georgiana sniffles ominously. Darcy knows how she feels. Even their father looks suspiciously damp eyed, having grown fond of Bingley over the last eight weeks. Bingley hugs Georgie, shakes father's hand, and then steps over to Darcy and wraps his arms around him. Darcy hugs back, frantic with some aching emotion that claws at his chest and lodges in his his throat. It's as Bingley steps away and starts to open the car door that impulse overtakes Darcy, and he yells "Wait!" Sprints to the stairs, takes them three at a time, then plows into his bedroom. He leaps onto his bed, prizes the egg from its hiding place and dashes back downstairs.  
Bingley is sat in the car, but the door has been left open. Carefully, Darcy leans in and presses the egg into his hands. Bingley looks up, eyes wide, and starts protesting but Darcy speaks over him, determined. "It's yours." He pauses. "Keep it safe." Bingley nods, frantically says "I will, I will," over and over. Darcy pulls away, then says firmly "I'll see you at Christmas." It's a statement, not a question.  
He shuts the car door, and they all stand and wave as the car pulls away, Bingley waving furiously back at them. As the car turns onto the main road, Darcy walks back inside at a perfectly regular pace. He climbs the stairs slowly and in silence. He quietly shuts his bedroom door beside him. Then he flops face first on his bed and bursts into tears. Aristotle, purring at the appearance of his master, nudges him questioningly. Darcy doesn't respond. He is eight-and-nearly-three-quarters, and he feels his world is ending.  



End file.
